The Creep (37 page)

"Well, I know what I want, but I don't know how you wrap it!" chuckled Bishman as he caressed her ample breasts and stroked her short, wavy, jet-black hair.

Anita sipped her champagne and paused before she spoke. "Here's a question for you. Do you think Bill ever suspected us? Do you think he knew we were lovers before he even came out to Los Angeles, or do you think he was totally oblivious to the whole
affair.
"

"There's more to Dr. Bill than meets the eye," mused Bishman, "so you can never tell. If he knew, he never let on to me. I don't think he did. He always talked about you and had to leave messages for you, wherever we were. I think he genuinely loved you - in his own way. He was always making me jealous, but he never knew that.

"I decided I could afford to wait. I wanted you to get him out of your system properly and completely. And let's face it, it's more than served our purpose; he screwed you - but you more than screwed him! But I still say there's more to him than meets the eye. I can almost sense something familiar about him, like how we got on so well...even though he knew exactly all the bad shit I'd done. But I can't quite put my finger on what it is."

"So I don't suppose he even knows that I was the one who gave you all the cuttings from the business magazines in the first place and recommended
that you seek him out for help, or the fact that you had keys to my apartment and used to come in for showers," said Anita.

"Well, if you didn't tell him, I certainly didn't tell him. He never helped me, anyway. He sure took me into hypnosis a lot, fed me a crock of shit sometimes and sure as hell got me to do some incredibly weird and wonderful things. We talked a lot. But as it happens, in the end, I sorted myself out. No more headaches or nightmares, no more depressions. And I got the girl!"

"Bill always said you'd say hypnosis hadn't helped. He was brilliant, you know, and I think he did help you. Let's face it, you were well screwed up and paranoid when we first met, a real chocolate mess. You're a lot more together than you were before he arrived - and no less sexy! Give him credit."

"All right, I concede
...
I used to be well fucked-up, but I'm all right now." Bishman laughed
...
he could afford to!

Bishman went down on Anita and
she
on him, and he thought:
To hell with breakfast, fuck coffee and donuts, 69 is the breakfast of champions!

"Leo, I have a call for you from Switzerland. Will you take it? The gentleman insists it's extremely
important." Madelaine was in the office at the rear of the penthouse suite.

"Madelaine, I told you no calls. No calls!" Leo Prendegast was deep in thought, looking out of the fifth-floor apartment window overlooking the race track at Monaco. The Formula One cars were doing about a 160 mph,
they were just a blur. He slid back one of the triple-glazed windows and for a brief moment took in the roar of the race cars.

In the harbor were the luxurious yachts of the rich and famous and the smaller sailboats of the not so rich and famous. Red and blue sails, white ones too, their owners eating caviar, drinking champagne, smoking cigars and watching the road action, all there to catch the rays and soak in the atmosphere.

Leo's apartment had thirty rooms, all with high ceilings, its own pool and completely white throughout: white walls, white carpet, white furniture, white soft furnishings tastefully outlined in gold leaf where appropriate. Everywhere there stood lavish crystal vases of red roses.

Leo let rip a raucous fart, as was his way.
Well at least that bit's still working
, he thought.

Marlene Friedeman, the interior designer from Manhattan, no less, had been called in to refurbish Leo Prendegast's Monaco apartment, now that he was spending more time there. She'd been responsible for the one hundred and thirty million dollar re-fit of the Aristotle Onassis yacht, the JACKIE-O. That was her claim to fame. Incidentally, the JACKIE-O used to be docked
regularly in the number one berth in Monaco harbor when Ari was alive; Leo was a regular guest when they
threw their extravagant parties -
but that's another story.

Marlene Friedeman's budget for the Prendegast apartment was just a tad over eighty-five million dollars and she had done a stunning job. She had taken special care to get the lighting right, spending just under two million dollars on a selection of chandeliers and precisely-placed spotlights to highlight stunning paintings, sculptures, artefacts and other valuable antiques that she had especially imported from all over Europe.

Leo wasn't thinking about the decor. He was too busy contemplating the evening's entertainment: What has the night in store for me?

"Leo, I'm ever so sorry, this guy is quite insistent. He said to say his name was Dr. Bill."

"Put him on immediately, Madelaine. Why didn't you say it was Dr. Bill in the first place?" Leo picked up the phone and pressed a button.

"Hi, buddy! Good to hear you, a blast from the past."

"Hi, Leo, I take it you still have the anti-bugging device on this line? It's a safe line, Leo, right?"

"Sure it is
,
nothing changes around here, buddy. Just got the latest technology installed about three weeks ago, British stuff you know. Good to hear that voice, I saw your escapade in the press.
Hypnotized three policemen for three hours.
My arse!" said Leo mimicking a British accent for the last sentence, just for fun.

"Yeah, I saw yours too, what a blast. By the way, I'm not Bill anymore, it's John."

"John, I like it! What's happening, John?" pressured Leo excitedly.

"Well, as you can imagine, I've changed my name and fingerprints, got that done in Brazil together with a little cosmetic face work, nose job, ears tucked. Those guys have a complete price
list,
it's like the menu in your Cadillac, fully comprehensive. Just painful for six weeks, that's all. Looks good and I feel good. Better than ever.
Raring to go.
Looking for some action.
Action, Leo!"

"Look, there's so much happening
it's
unreal. I'm having lots of fun in Monaco, but in three
days’ time
I'm off to Denmark to shoot some movies, and some stills for the new magazine. My man over there, I think you may
even know him, is a fellow countryman of yours, Jon Golding. I'm involved with him on the
Tycoon
magazine, which - as you've probably gathered - has gone through the roof."

"I'll say, how could anyone not notice with all the press and publicity? What a splash! The Skybo Castle affair must have been worth a fortune to you. Sounds to me your narrow escape from Skybo Castle was as close as mine from the Pasadena office," said John.

Leo broke in: "Yeah, I've always told you about back doors and escape plans. Well, I guess you must have taken some of it on board, you always were a bit slippery."

"I think you needed the action at Skybo to get
Tycoon
off the ground and probably stimulate other areas of your life at the same time."

"Yeah, we couldn't have had a better stunt if we'd planned it ourselves, and there are still some people who think I was behind the whole thing. But as you know, the actual facts are nothing further from the truth. The other thing, of course, it's got me out of the rut of going there every weekend. I'm even seeing a bit of the world these days. You still drive like a maniac? Do you still smoke the figure-of-eight in your Trans-Am, you crazy bastard?"

"Yes, I sure try to, as often as I can."

"Whaddaya doing in Switzerland, as if I can't guess already?"
Leo prodded a huge cracked lobster that was on a white table full of other snacks and delicacies. There was an Uzi submachine gun on the table too, that looked quite out of place.

"I came to visit my money. There's plenty here, but I'm one point five million down, I know who got it, though I can't for the life of me figure out how she did it. She's one smart girl. She did a brilliant job of covering her tracks. I only discovered it accidentally."

"Still, buddy, no matter what she did to
you,
remember it's not half as bad as what she could have done to you. You'd better believe it."

"I believe it."

"You know what, old
buddy,
I've never forgotten what you did for me. I don't know if I ever told you all those years back, but those doctors had given me eighteen months to live,
crazy bastards. They'd given me up for dead. I've had an extra twenty years because of you. There are no spots on my lungs at all. I have regular check-ups and I still smoke like a darn trooper. You're right you know. It's all in the mind. People have to be taught how to visualize themselves healed."

"You got that right. Our people who own the franchises know that and they do a damn good job. Now it's my turn to relax."

Leo suppressed a burp. "You know what. My fuckin' Gene Vincent tape got mangled up the other day, that's about the tenth one I've been through since you put me onto it. I must see if I can get
Be-Bop-a-Lula
on compact disc," said Leo, dunking a lobster tail into hot garlic butter sauce.

"You probably can, but I've got another one for you. It's called
Sweet Dreams Are Made of This
by a British group called the Eurythmics. It drives me wild, probably because it's got a special message. I suppose
Be-Bop-a-Lula
did, come to think of it."

"I'll get it. What about Denmark?
You up for that?"

"You bet, when d' you say you'll be there?"

"This Thursday.
I'll be staying in the
Marriot
in Copenhagen. Jon organized the complete top floor so there's plenty of room for us. Why don't you meet me there on Thursday?"

"Why don't I?"

"Good and don't forget
..."

"I know
...
I know
...
it's my shout for dinner, right!"

"You got that right!" At that moment Leo Prendegast let rip a thundering fart; he covered the telephone mouthpiece and under his breath, said
"It's still working."
It was a wet one, so he wished it wasn't.

"What was that,
Leo,
I think the line's going funny on us. I didn't quite hear what you said?"

Leo chuckled, "It's the line, John,
I
didn't say anything."
Leo changed track: "Did you hear
about the politician they recently found dead. He had a whole load
of cornflakes wedged up his ass
- they're looking fo
r a cereal killer!
ha
ha ha! - b
y the way, do you know how a
siphon
works?"

"What?" said John, unable to pick up the train of
thought.

"Never mind, I'll tell you when I see you Thursday. You can fill me in on what on earth you did for six weeks
recuperating,
you must have been bored out of that tiny skull of yours?"

"I wasn't bored at all, Leo. In actual fact, I wrote a book. Pieced together some of my own experiences, some of other people's. All true, but the really gruesome bits will probably get edited by the publishers. You know what it's like. Still it kept me busy - I could manage to use a word processor despite having bandages on my fingers, which are still rather sore. I used thimbles, it made life interesting."

"All true my
ass,
I suppose you're still a world class liar!"

"I am
Leo,
you know I can't help myself. In writing the book, I found it even more difficult than usual to separate truth from fantasy, it all mingles into one, and I guess a few of my readers will have a problem with it too. The joke
is,
the chunks they think are flights of fancy and imagination running
wild are probably true, and the sections that are realistic are probably fantasy. Life's like that."